milliways_bar | (no subject)

(no subject)

The Luggage (apparently having never left the bar last night) is on the floor by the fireplace with its lid hanging wide open at the hinges. It isn't moving. It actually sounds as though it's snoring quietly.

Ever wonder where it keeps all that stuff?

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Greebo, leering evilly at the waitrats, notices that The Luggage has stolen his usual place at the fireplace. He makes a mental note to sort him, it out later, ~~because the mun is online for, like, five minutes only, but is amused by the thought of the two pups meeting~~ but right now Greebo has some hunting to do.

[ooc: Sorry! *smites html tags*]

While Thursday is distracted conveniently, young Friday meanders closer to the Luggage, curious look on his face.

Foolishly, the boy pokes a hand toward the inside of the trunk, querying, "Mauris eu justo?"

The Luggage gives a great loud snore, shakes itself, and expels a single left shoe at Friday.

It returns to swaying slightly on its many feet while napping.

Letting out a cry of glee, Friday chases after the shoe that flew over his head, then catches up to it and grins at the Luggage.

Sleeping suitcases are just so entertaining for small children.

The Luggage sways again and its feet give out from under it. It lands on its bare pearwood bottom and continues to sleep, lid open.

Windows 95 approaches, peering curiously at the box. She glances around, wondering if it belongs to anyone.

"Ano..."

She kneels and looks closely at it, searching for any name label or other identification.

The Luggage awakes with a start and snaps wildly at the air, just barely missing the OS's arm.

"Kyaa!" She springs backwards, gripping the bundle of blue fabric hiding her katana. With equal parts suspicion and curiosity, she inches slightly closer.

The Luggage inches back.

Aha.

Amazingly unfazed by living luggage, the OS sits back and rummages around until she produces a roll cake from... somewhere.

She holds it out at arm's length.

The trunk shuffles forward, one smallish foot more or less in front of the other. It stops a few inches from the cake and doesn't move.

She waits with a smile, holding the cake still. "Come on... wouldn't you like a lovely cake, Box-chan?"

Another little four-foot shuffle forward. The trunk seems to sniff at the air (which is odd as it clearly doesn't have a nose) before lunging forward and mostly closing its lid on 95's wrist.

"Kyaa!" She quickly drops the cake and pulls her hand to safety.

"You shouldn't be so rough," she chastises, thwapping it on the lid, "Naughty box!"

The Luggage claps its lid shut and skitters under a stool where it settles in for a good lurk. It might have just burped. Hard to tell.

She watches it for a bit, then produces another roll cake. This one she leaves on the ground, a bit away.

She settles back on her heels to wait.

It's been gnawing on the leg of a barstool for a minute now, acting uninterested. Now it stalks toward the roll cake.

It circles.

It snaps up the cake and sits on the floor, perhaps quietly enjoying the treat.

Cautiously, she reaches a hand out to pat its lid, prepared to pull back if it tries again to make a meal of her.

"Is it good?" she asks, smiling.

It claps its lid a few times in what seems like an unthreatening manner.

The hand pats it a couple of times. "Do you belong to anyone, Box-chan? Or are you just here by yourself?"

The Luggage shakes a bit in a wet-dog manner as if to say "Pardon me, madam, but I belong only to myself."

This can, however, easily be misinterpreted as, "Why, yes, I could use a friend" or "I belong to that charming bar stool over yonder" or even "The Amish are coming! I can feel it in my left-left-left-left knee!"

When you're a box that doesn't talk your actions are quite open to interpretation.

She hazards a guess that it's a "No, I'm my own box!"

"So you're a wild box, then? I've never met one before. Do you like it here?"

The Luggage spits up a bit of an old bar stool leg that it must have chewed up in the past. It kicks the wood about playfully.

[I'm off to bed soon, sorry! Shall we wrap this up?]

[OOP: Okey-dee.]

She claps. "Well you look like you're enjoy ing yourself..." With a smile, she stands.

The Luggage opens its lid and spits out an old yellow rubber boot.

It looks like a parting gift of sorts.

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